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nightinngales · 11 months ago

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got tagged in a little WIP thing by @stormbeyondreality. sadly don’t have anything for my main fic but i do have a little something me and @i-am-a-lesbigwen have been fooling around with for wenclair.

Each day that passes without Wednesday extending The Invite, House moves the extra place setting an inch closer to her. It’s gotten to the point Wednesday can only reach her own chair from the left side. The chairs can’t get any closer without fusing together at the seams, and frankly, House should have known that turning her chair into a bench would not be persuasive enough to overrule her obstinance. If anything, she’s tempted to see how far House will go; if in a week from now the chairs will simply be superimposed on top of each other like two competing realities vying to become the successor to Schrödinger.

In the end, her Herculean stubbornness amounts to nothing while her brother exists and still, unfortunately, has all his fingers. (An oversight she intends to correct, as soon as she catches him—)

He does, however, have fourteen years of practice in avoiding her wrath, and so by the time she has strung him from the rafters and decided to put him to use as a piñata, that is the exact time when her father enters the room with the bane of her existence in tow.

Enid is not an Addams, no matter what House or her mother or father or brother or anyone wants to think, and so when she enters a room to find Pugsley hung upside down, Wednesday beneath him with a fencing saber in one hand and the rope in the other, there is only one appropriate response.

“Wednesday!” Enid exclaims, not unlike one might chastise a dog for relieving itself in the house. Not unlike how she had huffed out Wednesday’s name about apologizing to Thing, or moving the murder board in their room, or—

It doesn’t make Wednesday drop her saber and stand at attention like a scolded child. It does, however, make her release the rope, and she takes a not insignificant amount of pleasure in the sound of Pugsley’s thick skull introducing itself to the floor at near-terminal velocity.

“Ow,” Pugsley says, both infuriatingly intact and still in possession of all his faculties.

Wednesday sighs. He could have at least had the decency to be paralyzed.

Enid takes a step closer to her, arms extending, eyes twinkling, mouth curling into that maddeningly familiar grin—

Wednesday looks at Pugsley on the ground, and wonders if she can perform a lobotomy through the ear canal. Perhaps she’ll be the first. She shifts her grip on the saber in her hand, tilting her head in consideration at the best angle of entry, and that’s when Enid’s hand clamps around her wrist like a vice grip.

“Wednesday,” she scolds - again - and now her eyes are narrowed and accusatory and far too knowing about the direction of Wednesday’s thoughts. No one knows Wednesday that well. Certainly not Enid. “Drop it.”

Wednesday glares at her. If she’s not going to be ordered around by a House older than the Declaration of Independence, she’s certainly not going to be ordered around by a blonde werewolf dressed in enough neon active wear to look like she’d just walked off the set of an aerobics exercise video.

Enid must see the tell of her non-compliance somewhere in her person, for the next thing Wednesday knows, she’s being lifted, carted several long strides away, and set down again well out of saber-reach of her brother and his regretfully un-punctured ear canals.

It takes her just long enough to process the fact that she’s simply been removed from the situation like a particularly ornery cat that Enid manages to use that delay to wrap her arms around Wednesday and squeeze hard enough to realign her lower spine.

It’s not a hug. Enid must simply know that restraint is necessary to prevent Wednesday from committing a murder. Or several. Starting with her brother and ending with anyone who’s witnessed her being manhandled by the living equivalent of Barbie.

She’ll let Enid live, of course. Only because living with the consequences of her actions would be far more torturous than dying at Wednesday’s hands. That’s the only reason to spare her. Obviously.

Pugsley, of course, but also her father for the way he keeps beaming at her from over Enid’s shoulder, hand over his heart like he’s watching a telenovela play out right in front of his eyes.

“Thank you for inviting me!” Enid says, directly into Wednesday’s ear, and someone is going to pay.

Lobotomy for Pugsley. Perhaps the Iron Maiden for her father. He could stand to lose a bit of weight. A month should teach him the error of his ways.

“I didn’t invite you. Go home.”

Enid releases her at once, eyes wide and wet and mouth open and Wednesday hates it. Not because Enid looks like she’s going to cry, but because it’s an awfully stupid-looking expression. It must remind her of Pugsley, is all, and she’s never enjoyed his sniveling.

“That was me,” Pugsley groans, raising a hand weakly from his position on the floor. Wednesday checks the clock. Three minutes and thirty-seven seconds to free a single hand? Pugsley has clearly been slacking in her absence.

Enid looks between them, brows furrowing. “Is that why you’re trying to kill him?”

“No,” Wednesday lies.

“Yes,” Puglsey truths, at the exact same moment.

Wednesday cannot reach him, but that doesn’t stop her from throwing her saber at his face like a javelin. Unfortunately, a fencing saber is not particularly aerodynamic, and instead of piercing through an eye like she’d planned, the flimsy thing flips end over end until it’s the hand guard that plows into his left eye instead of the foil.

Well. At least he’ll have a black eye. It’s been too long since she’s given him such a rudimentary injury. Perhaps she’ll give him another to match, once she can get away with it.

Not that she’s worried about the disapproving look Enid is giving her. It’s just too much trouble to try and overpower a werewolf, is all, and Enid would definitely stop her if she tried to do it now.

#wenclair #no promises that this will ever go anywhere though #it really was just something me and gwen were going back and forth with one day for funsies #don't ask me about plot or anything cause mostly it's just 'wouldn't it be funny if-' but as a fic #crack treated seriously(?) i guess lol

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kareofbears · 2 years ago

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hand of god, deliver me

Wednesday hated summers. Will continue to hate summers.

Her phone vibrates. I’m outside! :D

But it’s possible she started hating summers a little less.

Or, Wednesday and Enid spend the last day of summer together.

Read on ao3 or below the cut

Wednesday hated summers.

Winters are her preferred season. She prefers long, flowy fabric that covers as much of her as possible. She prefers the cold, likes the way air tastes when she steps outside, the way it clings to her like shedding skin, flimsy but present. She loves the dark—loves the way the sun has already set by the time she leaves her classes, loves the shadows the trees cast from the flickering street lights above her. Love the way it makes the hair on the back of her neck rise when she realizes she can’t see more than a block in front of her. Loves the effect it has on people, makes them nervous, makes them crazed.

Summer has none of these.

Even from inside her home, the sun had managed to squeeze its way through the black-out curtains and light up the living room in a way that makes her eye twitch. She sits on her family’s piano bench, idly touching the monochrome keys. Her black skirt is comforting, though it makes the back of her legs sticky with sweat. Air conditioning is a push of a button, but there’s something sickening about the faux-chill. The way it snakes around the room, flowing into her lungs, suffocating her. Even sweat and body odor is preferable to that.

A bird sings from outside the window—a robin with a sonorant throat. Wednesday digs her nails into the keys, the sound clashing together unpleasantly.

Wednesday hated summers. Will continue to hate summers.

Her phone vibrates. I’m outside! :D

But it’s possible she started hating summers a little less.

She stands, swipes her phone off the table before sliding it into her pocket, and heads out the door silently. No need to call out a goodbye. Her parents always know when she’s left the house.

Down her driveway, standing in direct sunlight, stands Enid, sporting a smile so wide that Wedneday believes that she’s physically incapable of replicating it. Only in the span of a few months, Enid had grown an inch taller, increasing their height gap even further.

The first thing that she says is, “Your hair.”

“Huh? Oh,” Enid touches her hair, almost shy. Instead of the pink and blue, it’s now red and green. “I figured it’s time for a change. Do you like it?”

Wednesday tilts her head to the side. “It’s festive,” she says eventually.

“It’s August,” Enid reminds. “It’s not supposed to be festive.”

“Then what is it supposed to be?”

“A change?” she shifts on her feet. “Something different, I guess.” Glancing at Wedneday, her eyes warm. “I considered black, believe it or not.”

Wedneday’s mouth twitches. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I didn’t go through with it, now did I?” Their eyes are still connected, and her heart thumps as though she were terrified. As though there was something dangerous nearby that can chew her up, spit her out, with only her bones remaining left to remember her by.

She blinks. It’s only Enid. Enid in her bright sundress, with pink shades perched on top of her head like a nesting bird, who’s taller now but doesn’t make Wednesday feel smaller.

“Let’s go before we miss the bus.”

—

It has been a very long time since Wednesday had used public transportation.

It’s surprisingly pleasant, despite the air conditioning. Other than the two of them, only the bus driver and an elderly woman were onboard, allowing the two of them to sit in the back without any interruption. Thankfully, Enid lets her have the window seat.

Enid chats, and chats, and chats. She doesn’t talk of monsters, or Outcasts, or killings, or mysteries. Instead, she talks about normal things. Teenager things. About what she did in the past two months, about a book she’s reading, about a shirt she knitted halfway through before giving up because she suddenly got sick of the colors. How she went to a farmer’s market a few ago and complained about how the mangos were underripe but the avocados are overripe. Embroidery is her new passion, she says.

Wednesday stares outside the whole time, at the blue sky and the flower fields that pass by, silent. She’s enjoying the one-sided conversation, strangely enamoured by her fluctuating voice and gesticulating hands. It feels like everything that happened the last school year was a hallucination, a dream turning fuzzy the moment you wake up only to be forgotten completely in minutes.

This, however, is the realest she’s felt in a long time.

“What’s this?” Enid asks suddenly, and she feels a gentle finger on her wrist, stroking the new silver chain there. “Are you liking jewelry nowadays?”

“A necessity. It’s embedded with Onyx stones.” She tilts her wrist, this way and that, vaguely enjoying the glimmer. “It’s expensive in case I need to sell it for emergencies. Or bribery.”

“It’s pretty.” Enid’s hand traces the stones one more time before pulling away. “It suits you.”

For a second, Wednesday considers letting her wear it, even if it was just for a moment. An heirloom to the Addams, one that dates back centuries and carries history that even she herself isn’t sure about. It was supposed to be an honor to wear this, unthinkable for outsiders to even touch.

Then her eyes flicker to Enid. Her high cheekbones and pale hair, the purse of her lips—a childish habit she has when she’s thinking deeply. The way she caresses Wednesday’s wrist like it would wither under her fingers, her nails painted a bright lilac. It’s as if she’s the color that shines through stained glass windows in a cathedral, unrelenting and vivid and filled to the brim with stories to tell.

Wednesday pulls her hand away. “Are we almost there?”

Enid jolts, hands scrambling to find purchase on the call button. “Oh my god, I almost forgot.”

Soon, the both of them tumble out of the bus, Enid still rambling about how she funny it would have been if they had to backtrack in the hot summer, although Wednesday isn’t quite sure what would be so funny about that.

As they make their way to the small town, she glances at Enid’s wrist, unburdened by Onyx stones, and nods to herself. The idea of shackling Enid to the Addams is sickening enough to make her nauseous, no matter how temporary, fill her stomach with lead and sink her to the bottom of a lake.

Her family can try and take anything of Wednesday’s, but not this. Never this.

—

The village resides at the mouth of a nearby river, buildings old but sturdy in a classic European way. It’s small and quaint, a fishing village that had overtime been reinvented as somewhat of a tourist hub, with small stores and market stalls scattered across the premises that creates an atmosphere similar to a renaissance fair. A combination of students, locals, and out-of-towners roam around, the last few days of summer encouraging everyone to soak in the sun and make up for doing nothing the past few months.

Wednesday feels her brows furrow, but instantly smooths over her expression. Still, Enid peers closely at her. “It’s the crowds, isn’t it?”

This time, she doesn’t bother hiding her grimace. “Don’t watch me so closely.” Her heart rate is spiking again. Instinctively, she scans for a danger that isn’t there. “It’s a fruitless effort to try and read me.”

Enid’s expression turns cocky. “I think I just did, actually, but we don’t have to talk about that if you don’t want to.” She links her arms with Wednesday’s and takes them down a back alley. The whole path is shrouded in tall pine trees, creating a walkway of shade and cool air. “I had a feeling it would be like this, so…” she shrugs. “Let’s walk the road less traveled.”

They spend the day like that, entering shops, peering at clothes (Enid), enamored by the spiders that crawl through the flower beds (Wedneday), browsing through books (Enid and Wednesday). The whole time, their arms stay linked. Whenever she tries to pull away, Enid would tighten her grip, whining. It would be too easy to yank her arm out of the way, but she’s slightly, abnormally, inexplicably charmed.

Her heart beats quicker, the fear getting stronger, but she doesn’t mind it.

She doesn’t mind any of it.

—

The last shop in their strip is a thrift store.

Wednesday sits on a bench just outside the dressing room, legs crossed as she waits for Enid to finish changing. So far, she’s gone through military uniforms, Victorian era gowns, and cheerleader.

“This better be the last one, or I’m leaving you here,” Wednesday murmurs.

“Ha!” she hears a snort. “As if you know how to bus home.”

Frowning. “I do know how to bus home.”

A blonde tuff of hair peeks out from behind the curtain as Enid grins at her. “It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone, rich girl.”

Wednesday rolls her eyes before standing up to stretch, letting her gaze wander around the store. Shelves of useless junk next to racks of ugly clothes. No wonder Enid loves this place.

She lets her feel take her to the glass cabinet, the lighting dim but just bright enough to let her peer inside. As she expected, most of it is worthless. Colored plastic, sterling silver, scratched up gems on rusted bases. She’s about to turn back when something glints at her.

Eyes widening, she leans down, sucking in a breath. There is no hesitation in her voice when she says, “Excuse me, how much?”

—

The bus ride home is quiet.

There are a few more people riding with them, but it seems they’re all just as tired as they are. With the sun setting, everything is bathed in a warm orange light. The temperature had gone down to something bearable, so the bus had opeted to let the windows roll down instead of relying on the air conditioning. She closes her eyes, enjoying how the wind rustles her hair gently.

A weight slides onto her shoulder. Wednesday turns carefully. Enid had fallen asleep on her, chest rising and falling in even breaths, gently jostling along with the bus.

Eventually, carefully, so, so carefully, she reaches into the pocket of her skirt, pulling out a pale, pearl bracelet that she puts on Enid’s wrist.

She watches her for a long time. Watches how the sunset makes the pearls shine in an entrancing way, how the color is so unmistakably Enid.

In a moment of bravery, or more accurately, stupidity, Wednesday intertwines her fingers with Enid’s. In this angle, it’s impossible not to notice how the Onyx bracelet from earlier is gone—replaced, instead, with a black pearl bracelet of her own.

Wednesday Addams is not stupid.

She isn’t quite so stupid as to believe her own thoughts. She isn’t quite so stupid as to believe that this is something as juvenile as a friendship bracelet. She isn’t quite so stupid as to believe that what she’s feeling all this time was fear.

Was it fear that causes her heart to race? Her mouth to twist into a smile? Her chest to feel like it’s going to explode? To change her mind about something she hated because the girl sleeping on her shoulder expressed a liking to it?

Wednesday Addams is not stupid, but she is a coward.

Maybe it really is fear. She’s scared enough to wait until Enid was asleep. Scared enough to use the words she’s never afraid of using. She’s scared to want. Above all, she’s scared of the scale of her want. But what she’s truly afraid of is something that doesn’t dare even name. She isn’t ready.

Absently, she squeezes her hand around Enid’s, praying she doesn’t stir. The hand tightens in return, and the head on her shoulder only seems to relax further, the bracelet’s strapped around their wrists clinking together.

She isn’t ready.

Wednesday lets her gaze slide back to the window, and appreciates the warm air of summertime.

But maybe someday she will be.

—

Enid lies in bed, staring at the pearls on her wrist, other hand gripping her phone, Wednesday’s contact open, unsent messages by the dozens clogging up her screen.

i love it. why didn’t you wake me up?

i love the color, but why didn't you get me black? i told you I'm starting to like it more as time goes on

i love seeing you, i had so much fun

summer can’t end soon enough. roomies for life!!

how do you feel about summer?

i love you

I love you

I love you.

She tosses her phone aside, shoving her face in her pillow.

Maybe someday.

#*cracks knuckles* i love writing practice #between you and me...i only wrote this in the span of like two hours #so let me know if there's any grammatical errors #i do love these characters i really do #but i didnt really like the show #isnt that just the story of my life lmfao #wednesday #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #wenclair #fic tag #*shrek voice* it feels so good to be home #my bts fic holding a knife to my back....#hand of god deliver me

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